Rinisa’s eyes widened. Then, she burst into giggles. “What? No. Oh my God, no. You sweet, naïve man! You think I’d settle for that, after everything I’ve been through, all that I’ve sacrificed for the cause? No, sweetheart. I’ve no intention of being a pawn when I can be a queen.”
“A – what?” Abhijat gaped at her, his mind racing. “You think – he told you he’ll marry you? Is that it?”
“It’s only reasonable,” she shrugged. “This war – and it is a war, make no mistake – he’d never have won it without me. So why shouldn’t I want to share the spoils, fifty-fifty? A prime minister can be replaced if she becomes inconvenient; governments collapse all the time. A wife…well, we both know that’s easier said than done.”
Abhijat cleared his throat. “So, what made you change your mind?”
Rinisa raised an enquiring eyebrow.
“About pinning Badal’s murder on Fasih. That hitman changed his story overnight. I’m guessing that was your doing?”
“Well, Jehan Fasih is quite possibly the biggest spoilsport this world has ever seen.” She pouted. “He threatened to go public about the use of Amven at the La Fantome club.”
“You mean how you used it to drug children and force them into prostitution?”
“Precisely,” she sighed, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. “Can you imagine what the media would make of that story if it ever came out?”
“I’ve some ideas. For one, if the public became aware of the drug’s potential for misuse, no government hoping for re-election would dream of ratifying its use in the justice system. Maganti’s grand plan of a unilateral power-grab via the use of Amven on prisoners would be over before it even began.”
“Well, you’re certainly proving to be smarter than you look.” Her eyes traveled slowly over the length of his body. She smirked, “Not that I have any problems with the way you look. But you can see why we had to scrap that bright little idea. Couldn’t let Amven get a bad rap in the media. Not when the situation’s this delicate. You come from a family of politicians, you should know that. Public opinion is everything.”
“And Maganti thinks that having the prime minister of Naijan murdered in the capital of Maralana, the day before the New Year’s gala he is supposed to be hosting,” he let the skepticism seep into his voice. “Will help with his reputation?”
“Perhaps it wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t fallen for my story as easily as you did. But you did, didn’t you?” She winked, her lips quirking as her gaze flickered over to Fasih once again. “You drove him here to this abandoned warehouse, all by yourself and seemingly under no duress, when you were supposed to be escorting him to a brunch appointment on the other side of town. Not the kind of thing you can pass off as an honest mistake.
“Now, why did you do that?” She shrugged. “Let’s see. Jehan Fasih betrayed your father, caused your sister to get kicked out of Weritlan University, and has in general caused all kinds of trouble for your family. Some might even say he was the reason you had to leave the military. Is it so very unlikely that after all that, you might’ve wanted some revenge?
“Especially if Maralanese intelligence operatives – acting on a tip about a possible assassination attempt against the Naijani prime minister – happened to find you trying to kill Jehan in this very warehouse. And then, of course, they’d have to shoot you in order to save the prime minister. But as you can imagine, they’ll have arrived too late.
“Fasih was already near death by the time they located the warehouse. He couldn’t be saved, and died tragically on the way to the hospital. That’s the story the reporters will get, at least.
“That gun you were pointing at Fasih not so long ago, with your fingerprints all over it? You can be sure that’s the weapon we’ll use to send him on his way, once we’re done with him. You dismantled his phone, left your prints all over the parts that’re now lying outside this building, begging to be found. My poor little soldier boy, I couldn’t have created a more airtight case against you if I’d tried.
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“And what’s the alternative theory, anyway? President Maganti has nothing to gain directly from your death or Jehan’s. What reason would anyone have to suspect him? And even if they did, they certainly wouldn’t be able to prove anything.”
“Not a bad plan,” Abhijat said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Not that it’ll do you any good, but points for trying.
“You said it yourself, if Fasih had to step down, my father would almost certainly be reinstated as prime minister. That holds equally true if Fasih were to die. And if you think he’s going to toe Maganti’s line about Amven, or about anything else for that matter, you’re even more deluded than I thought.”
Rinisa hummed softly, examining her pistol. “Mmm, well, that would’ve been a problem, if not for a convenient little rumor suggesting that Rajat Shian might have conspired with his son to murder Fasih...a fitting retribution for his betrayal of the Shian family.”
“You’ll never be able to prove–”
“I wouldn’t need to. That’s the beauty of it, don’t you see? It’s all a game of perception and public opinion. I’ll never need to prove his guilt in a court of law...I wouldn’t even try. Just as long as enough people believe it to be true, or even suspect that it might be true, your father isn’t sitting on the prime minister’s chair ever again.
“His reputation would be ruined beyond repair. No one can withstand a blow like that, twice in less than a year. Politically, he’d be as good as dead. And I don’t particularly care if he hangs himself or becomes a goat farmer after that.” She smiled, her eyes far away. “And whoever comes after him would’ve no problems with – what did you call it? Ah yes, ‘toeing Maganti’s line about Amven,’ if you know what I mean.
“And there you have it, my idealistic soldier boy. The perfect happy ending to our sordid little fairy tale.”
Something stirred, pulling Abhijat out of the nightmarish reverie his mind was sinking into. He whipped around to see Jehan moving.
He coughed, his body jerking with each hacking exhalation of breath. A few seconds later, the coughing stopped and Fasih tried to move. A whimper, followed by another round of hacking coughs, and his body stilled once again.
As Abhijat watched, helpless, he realized that Fasih was barely breathing.
“So why’re we still alive, then?” he demanded, turning to Rinisa. His voice was shaking, and for once, he didn’t care. God, what had he done?
“Well, we still need to know where the latest version of the drug is being stored. Wouldn’t want Dileep Haval to take the final Amven prototype and disappear, once he hears of his best friend’s tragic and untimely demise in Maralana.”
“And you think Fasih’s going to give you that information? Why? ‘Cause you asked nicely?”
She chuckled. “No, silly. ‘Cause I’ll ask with Amven. Remember the drug they used at the La Fantome? You were there with Jehan, weren’t you? Well, it was one of the early prototypes that Badal had managed to get his hands on. Nowhere near as effective as the final version, I daresay. But it did the job. Did it quite well, actually, if a little ham-handed.
“Anyway, a large enough dose of even the old prototype should be enough to get him talking.” She walked over to Jehan and prodded him with the tip of her sneaker. “It’s not like we’ll need the effects to last forever, just so long as it’ll get him to answer a few simple questions.”
Abhijat bit his tongue, swallowing the retort that rose spontaneously to his lips. Fasih had said he was immune to Amven, but how far did his immunity extend? And did Rinisa know that Jehan had developed a resistance to the drug? Would she have that accounted for or would it come as a surprise to her?
And if it did, how could Abhijat use it to his advantage?
He shook his head, focusing back on his captor. “And I take it you’ll kill him, after you have your answers.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of fact.
“Eventually,” she shrugged, nudging Jehan with her foot until he was lying flat on his back. “Cute, isn’t he? I’ve always thought so.” The tip of her sneaker caressed Jehan’s cheek, making him groan incoherently and shrink away. “Would be a shame to put that on a pyre without getting a taste of it first, wouldn’t you agree?”
“You’re sick,” Abhijat hissed, nauseated. “He isn’t even conscious. Leave him alone.”
Stepping away from Jehan, she smirked. “Aww, don’t be jealous, big guy. I haven’t forgotten you. In fact, I’ll be sure to give you my full attention after I’ve put a bullet into Fasih. After all, we both know that political control isn’t the only thing Amven is good for.”
Her tone made Abhijat’s skin crawl, but he said nothing. Now wasn’t the time.
Walking over to the door, she reached for the handle, then turned around with a speculative look in her eyes. “But we still need to wait for Grigori to get here before we can get this show going. In the meantime, try not to cause any trouble, okay? I’d hate to have to kill you before we can have some fun together.”
She stepped out, and Abhijat heard her speaking in some Maralanese dialect he couldn’t quite place. Moments later, the two burly, leather-clad guards he’d seen earlier, stepped into the room and took up positions on either side of the door.
“We’re literally in the middle of nowhere, and this warehouse is surrounded by Grigori’s men,” Rinisa cooed, poking her head through the door. “So I wouldn’t try anything stupid if I were you. You must realize just how dispensable you are to us right now. The smallest false move, and the next time they shoot, it won’t be a tranquilizer dart.”
The door clicked shut, casting the room into shadows.